


Undercover

by Uniasus



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, G1 world, Gen, I love playing with canon and fanon, but could also be the reason why Bayverse is the way it is, early war, spy mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war got up and started, you had to prove your loyalty to the side you were defecting to. Do something like...bring a high ranking tactician in as your prisoner. Pre-Earth, early days of the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercover

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on ff.net back in Feb 2012. So I guess not that long ago. Heads up for screwing with things that have been done in the past. I like taking concepts and making them turn 180 degrees around and surprising people.

The war had snuck up on the planet. It began in the political field, with different mechs and femme arguing for their ideals and what they thought was best. For help, they recruited supporters. Citizens of Cybertron who liked a particular direction for the government, who believed in their plans. 

And then it moved to underground meetings and speeches. Because one side was losing on the congress floor, but believed so strongly that they were right. Their spokesperson convinced masses that to truly get what they wanted, they had to grab it with their hands. 

So many agreed. 

Thus began the secret upgrades, the spying, the planning. Only one side of the war knew about it, and not even that entire side. So when the first attack came, and mechs and femmes witnessed what their fraction had done, had reduced a city to molten metal and fellow Cybertronians to gray frames, many switched sides. 

But it went both ways. Those frustrated with the lack of foresight about the attack, who lamented that their side wasn’t doing all it could do to protect their ideals, they switched too. The practice was right, the ideology not, but that could be changed. 

And so, in the first hundred vorns of the Civil War, it as normal to have your friend, your comrades defect and join the enemy. Some even did it more than once. Cybertronians were a long-lived race, and as such they were used to taking their time to make a decision. That was expected. Defectors on both sides were welcomed without suspicion. 

But by the time two hundred vorns passed, most mechs and femmes were set on their opinions and where they wanted to be. 

If you wanted to switch, you had to bring proof of your loyalty. 

##

Jazz crossed his arms and frowned at the light gray mech in front of him. Prowl didn’t seem to care; he stood straight, bold as brass, red chevron shining, and stared right back. That was new. Most mechs Jazz frowned at squirmed. 

Then again, most of those who he wasn’t pleased with were ranked lower than him. Prowl wasn’t. The tactician had been an Autobot since before the War had come to rockets and fists. Young, super smart, he rose through the ranks on the side of management and strategic planning and was currently number five. Most soldiers had at least heard of him by name. He was also on the ‘Cons watch list. 

Jazz on the other hand was new. He had held out as a neutral mech as long as possible, but had eventually joined the Autobots. Small, socialable, and sneaky, he had been assigned to a black ops division of the army. He had co-lead missions before, but this was his first time going solo. 

To say he was nervous would be a lie. Especially considering what Prowl had to go through to get Jazz a place in the Decepticons. He was terrified.

Prowl stopped staring back and got around to business. “Here’s access to a private channel,” he told Jazz, sending the information across on a personal line.  
“It’s different that the one Night Owl gave you, that’s for conveying information only. This one is just a signal channel. When your feel your mission’s complete and you get all the data you can about their supply chain, ping it. It’ll be my cue to start planning your extraction.”

“Who’s planning yours?” Because if there was a main reason Jazz was frowning, it was the risk Prowl was putting himself in. The Praxian was step below high command, and would be needed at Iacon. Black ops usually ran missions gathering intelligence, but they also did unseen security detail. He was used to protecting Autobots, not giving them to the enemy. 

“I did. It’s already done and scheduled to take place just over an orn later from when we arrive.”

“You know, I’m sure there’s other ways of getting this information.”

Prowl shook his helm. “None that would be trustworthy in the long term. I’ve run the odds over many times, as have my superiors. This is our best option.”

“Still,” Jazz rotated his optics so they lit on the third mech in the room, Ironhide. The mech was old, but he had served two Primes and had been close to the current one before his upgrade. His job would be to follow behind Jazz and Prowl to make his defection look authentic. 

Sensing the gaze, Ironhide rolled his shoulders back. “If Prowl says it’ll work, it’ll work.”

Really, was he the only one who didn’t feel confident about this mission? Maybe he just wasn’t ready for something of this caliber. 

“Any questions?” Prowl asked.

Jazz shook his head, and Ironhide didn’t say anything. He just rolled his right shoulder back again.

“Right, when ever you’re ready Ironhide.” The tactician said, turning towards the red mech. 

“I’ll, I’ll wait by the door.” Jazz said. He felt guilty enough about what he had to do to Prowl, and so refused to do this part. Ironhide had stepped up, no questions asked, but Jazz still had no desire to watch.

##

Jazz waited by a back door of the Autobot base at Iacon. It was through there that Jazz and Prowl were going to leave in a small transport headed for Tyger Pax to deliver energon. Not that they would actually go there. 

The sound of uneven clanking reached his audios and Jazz turned in time to see Prowl rounding the corner supported by Ironhide. 

“Primus, I thought you were supposed to make him look injured, not actually do it! We already have a power dampener for him to use.”

Prowl’s limp was pretty obvious, one of his door wings was bent, the other lacked glass, one side of his chevron was bent down, and his chassis showed at least a dozen dents. 

“Power dampeners only do so much. Just because the Decepticons will think I have less power than will doesn’t mean they’ll believe it if you show up with me only slightly injured. But don’t be alarmed, the damage is mostly superficial.”

“Mostly?”

“The limp is real,” Ironhide offered. “Not like he’ll need to walk, with you taking that transport.”

“I guess,” Jazz said, but still feeling uncomfortable with the situation. Just how important was this information? It better be worth it. 

Jazz had gotten the transport already, so it was waiting just outside the doors. “Right, you already have the dampener installed?” he asked Prowl.

“Of course.”

Jazz forced a lot of air through his exhaust pipes. “Let’s get this started then.” He walked forward and cuffed Prowl’s hands behind him with stasis cuffs. “Superficial wounds or not, where would it be most comfortable for me to drag you from? Because there’s no way I can carry you.”

Prowl’s door wing tips jerked a bit, and Jazz had to wonder if that was a sign of repressed laughter. It was pretty obvious Jazz would not be able to carry Prowl as the gray mech was noticeable taller. 

“Probably from my feet while I am face down, or perhaps on my side, as you will not have to worry about my wings.”

“Right,” he answered, hiding his mental wince. That seemed rather undignified, forcing Prowl’s face into the ground. But his wings would be rather awkward to work around. Even with Jazz’s relatively flat chest. 

This next part would certainly be awkward for both of them, a fact that was highlighted to Jazz due to Ironhide’s presence. He would have like to have gotten on the transport within the walls of Iacon, but that wasn’t normal procedure here and Prowl had insisted that there had to be ‘evidence’ of his abduction as early as possible. 

“On the ground then Prowl,” Jazz said, though Prowl had already began to lower himself. Jazz grabbed the other mech’s ankles gently and focused on that spot, refusing to look up at Ironhide or Prowl’s face. “Let’s go.”

Jazz started dragging Prowl backwards, twisting his arms a bit so the grey mech was on his shoulder and not front bumper. The door opened behind him to let them outside and Prowl shut his optics off to play stasis. 

It was dark, the moons dim, but Jazz still did his best to act like a criminal. He moved quickly (though that was also to get this part over with) and twisted his head from side to side to make sure no one saw him. 

The transport was only five steps from the door before, but now with Prowl’s weight it took him ten and he felt every extra one. As soon as he could, he released Prowl’s legs. He wanted to do it gently, but for the sake of image just let go. Jazz swung open the two rear doors, pulled out the ramp, and then proceeded to drag Prowl up it. That done, he pushed up the ramp, shut the doors, and scuttled around to the driver’s seat. Astroseconds later, they were driving away from Iacon.

##

The journey was easy, but not at all comfortable. As soon as they were a decent distance away, Jazz had climbed into the back of the transport to uncuff Prowl and sat across the cargo space from him. The transport’s auto pilot could handle the road, but there were times were Jazz thought that it might be better to take over the controls again. But then he realized he only wanted to do it because he was a coward and forced himself to stay put.

Because that’s what he wanted to do, get out from under Prowl’s gaze. Or presence, as they weren’t really looking at each other. Prowl was staring out the windshield and Jazz was staring at his toes. The only words they had exchanged had been ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ when the cuffs came off. 

Jazz had no idea what to say to the officer. He was still very uncomfortable with the risks Prowl was taking, and couldn’t bear to look at the wounds on his body. Jazz knew basic field repairs and his fingers itched to at least bend Prowl’s chevron back into place. But Prowl didn’t even seem to notice the injuries, sitting as still and stiff as the tactician always had at his desk. 

The silence felt heavy to Jazz, an all encompassing weight of current and future guilt and the niggling expectation of something going wrong. How could Prowl not feel it?  
“Try to relax, Jazz.” The gray mech across the cargo hold spoke and Jazz’s head shot up at the words. Prowl was looking at him, blue optics lit with emotion but Prowl was too good at keeping a front and Jazz couldn’t tell what emotion they were. “Worrying won’t help, just make you tense and over think. A calm processor is what will get us through this, and I can tell you’re not in such a state.”

“No, I’m not. But I can’t help being tense. I’m worried.”

“I’m positive you’ll do fine. I choose you for a reason.”

“Wish you’da chose someone else. But it’s you I’m worried for mostly. You’re important.”

“So are you. So is every Autobot.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

Jazz snorted. Most low ranked soldiers thought Prowl was emotionless. Theories ranged from a factory defect to the tactician willingly getting rid of them to do his job, but Prowl just kept them in really good check and had great control over his expressions. Skills Jazz thought he had too, expect for the fact that Prowl read him so well. 

Not having a response, Jazz just continued to look at Prowl. The tactician looked back, gaze neutral. After some time, Jazz didn’t know what exactly because he was doing his best to not look at his chronometer to check the time, an internal alarm went off. 

It had been planned for Prowl’s disappearance to be noticed and Ironhide to follow in a mini-gun ship. Standard procedure meant the red gunner would have called to Tyger Pax to give them a heads up, and once the transport was in a certain radius the commanders of the base would send out forces to apprehend ‘the kidnapper’. Tyger Pax really would think that Prowl had been kidnapped, and so the forces coming from the city would be real and dangerous. 

The alarm was to tell Jazz they should be meeting those forces soon. 

Smoothly, Jazz stood up and made his way to the driver’s seat, turning off the autopilot. Prowl stretched out on the floor of the cargo space, not wanting to risk being seen through the windshield. 

“Hold on tight, Prowl.” Jazz warned. There weren’t any straps to keep Prowl from moving around, but he could grab on to the handholds on the side of the transport or the straps holding the energon cubes in place. Jazz was well known for his erratic driving. But it was a good erratic driving, he had never been caught. 

It was almost too easy slipping away from Tyger Pax, Jazz wondered if the mechs and femmes sent out after them knew Prowl wasn’t actually unconscious in the back, but the tactician assured him they didn’t. He felt bad about forcing two sprint ships to crash into each other, especially now that they were out of the base’s range and he had the time to think about it. 

Usually he was the one on the team cheering up everyone else. Why couldn’t he do the same for himself?

##

It was a little before the sight of Darkmount appeared on the horizon that Ironhide ‘caught up’ and started ‘shooting’. Okay, the shooting was real, Jazz thought as the transport shook. But Ironhide’s aim was way better, the spy knew. The transport had only been brushed by ammunition, most of Ironhide’s shots ‘missing’ and destroying the path. It did wonders to Jazz’s visibility, all that debris and smoke. He was glad he had already done all the prep worked he needed to. Namely, recuff Prowl and ‘knock him out’. 

Darkmount rushed up in the windshield. It grew quicker than Jazz had expected, which apparently was due to how big the Decepticon complex was. Primus, how was Prowl’s rescue mission going to find him in there later? Ten breems outside of the fortress, the transport’s comm system crackled to life. Ironhide’s actions must have been convincing enough for the ‘Cons to contact Jazz instead of just shoot the transport. There was one worry about Prowl’s plan relieved. 

“Autobot transport, state your business.”

“Trahin’ not to die!” he yelled back, his voice taking on a Kaon accent. Kaon had been a mainly working class city and most of its population wore the purple fraction symbol. Sure, Jazz was working off of a stereotype, but if it worked, who was he to stop? “Ah wanna be with you guys!”

“We don’t listen to every runaway Autobot. Why should we open the gates to you?”

“Cuz ah’ll make it worth it! Got old Ahronhide on my tail for a reason, brought ahn officer for ya.”

The transport shook as Ironhide shot one of the solar panels, and it dipped to the left as one of the hover mechanisms sputtered. Ironhide was probably having a lot of fun at the moment. 

The comms stayed silent, and Jazz felt his pump stutter. It wasn’t going to work, the guns on the wall would destroy the transport and kill them both. Or Jazz was just going to crash into the monolith doors he could just begin to make out. 

“Let meh in!” he screamed through the comm.

“We’ll give you a chance,” the ‘Con at the other end said. 

The doors to Darkmount gratefully opened, and Jazz sped up to fly over the threshold. Ironhide slammed on the brakes, idled for a moment, and then turned around to head back into Autobot territory. 

Oh, how Jazz wished he could join him.

##

As soon as the transport came to a stop, Jazz lost all freedom. The door was opened and he was yanked out, arms cuffed behind his back. Other ‘Cons dragged Prowl out of the cargo hold, Jazz did his best not to look in that direction, as well as empty it of energon. Current information suggested the ‘Cons had a limited supply and it turned out that was true.

Despite not wanting to watch Prowl get pushed and pulled around, he was very hesitant to leave the entry way and have the tactician out of his possible sight. Prowl was important to the Autobots, more so than Jazz, and this felt so wrong. But he could see the grey mech impassively stare at him and insist on this in his head, breaking down his reasoning with logic to the point where Jazz found himself agreeing, but to have a breem out of Prowl’s presence again wondering why. 

The best thing he could do at the moment was to follow the plan Prowl had given him – join the ‘Cons as a grunt and work his way up. 

A shove in his back had him stumbling, but he caught his feet and continued walking between two ‘Cons. They took him to a brig, underground, lightless, and left him there caged. 

Considering, it wasn’t that long of a stay. A tall, lumbering, rusted copper color mech flipped on the lights and strode to Jazz’s cell. The sudden brightness made it hard for him to focus on the mech at first, but eventually he recognized him. Sawhorse, a ‘Con of similar rank to Prowl, though he was known more for his combative skills than his thinking ones. 

“What’s your name?”

“Ahm Duke.”

Sawhorse started him down, and Jazz couldn’t decide if he should stare back like he normally would or play the opposite character and look at the floor. He had settled for Sawhorse's fingers, but before he could look up or down the ‘Con snorted. Jazz figured a toned down version of himself would be good, it would be easier to keep. 

“Okay, Duke. Why are you here?”

“Ah don’ like the Ahtobots no more. They hold me bahk. “

“How?”

“Don’ let me fight like ah wahnt.”

“And how do you like to fight?”

Jazz grinned. “Up ‘n close, in the shahdows. Thaht’s how ah got Prowl for yah. So you cahn see what ah cahn do.”

Sawhorse didn’t do anything other than stare at him, but seemed to hesitantly believe him. He tilted his head back to a femme half hidden in shadows behind him that Jazz hadn’t seen. “If Trident here gives you the okay, they you can join.”

There was the slight zip noise of cables and Jazz knew what that meant. Trident was going to dive into his processer and make sure he was only exactly what he said he was. It was a good thing Jazz had everything relating to his true nature and mission hidden in a ghost drive. Quickly he started disconnecting himself from it and starting a timer to reactivate the connection. Once he wasn’t accessing files in the ghost drive, his processer would really think he was Duke. As would Trident.

He double-checked the timer. Being Duke forever wasn’t very attractive, he liked being Jazz. Plus, it felt like abandoning Prowl by forgetting about him. Jazz didn’t want that resting on his shoulders. 

##

He passed. Scrap, he passed. It took awhile though. Trident was good, she kept showing up in the brig at random times in an effort to catch him unaware, but Jazz was better. Still, it was an orn before he was trusted.

He was going through an evaluation, to determine his placement on a squad, when the sirens started going off. Jazz had to do his best to hide his smile, for this was the scheduled day for Prowl to be rescued. 

Obviously ‘Duke’ wasn’t completely trusted yet, or maybe they just had no idea where to put him or what to have him do, but Jazz found himself once again in his cell in the brig. 

To be honest, he couldn’t have asked for a better place to be during the rescue. It gave him the perfect alibi. Being locked in the brig meant he had no chance to help the Autobots. But more than that, it allowed him to sag in peace against the metal walls. After worrying about Prowl of so long it was a relief to know he was in Autobot hands again. Of course, he was most likely not in very good condition. Jazz had faith in the medics though, they were very skilled. 

Now it was just up to him to make sure everything Prowl went through wasn’t for naught. 

##

The thing about Darkmount was that it was huge. Jazz got lost a couple of times, even with maps, when he first arrived. And even now, two vorns after he had joined the ‘Cons, he still discovered new hiddy-holes and spare rooms. Getting to know the base was hard, but getting to know the ranks was harder. 

Part of Jazz’s mission had been to get intel on as many ‘Cons as possible. Which was actually quite hard as the forces stationed at Darkmount changed pretty quickly. Even the officers never stayed for long periods of times, despite this being the main Deception base, and that made gathering information about personnel happen in little bits and spurs. 

It was easier, surprisingly, to get information about supplies and plans. That might have had something to do with his role. During his assessment, Jazz had highlighted his skills to blend into his surroundings and be sneaky. He had wanted to hide those talents, they reeked of special ops training, but they were what had supposedly allowed him to capture Prowl and so counteracted them by showing very little skill with weapons more sophisticated than a club. Jazz also hid his knowledge of hacking, but let shine his ability with numbers. 

As a result, they had put him in supplies. Not very glamorous, no, but it gave him perfect access to the ‘Con’s inventory, and from that he could guess at upcoming missions. And his objective was investigate the supply lines. He was actually very happy for his job. It kept him out of the front lines, where he might have to hurt his fellow Autobots to keep his cover. Or watch them die. 

But it wasn’t like he was cooped up in Darkmount all the time either. He and another mech, Zenith, were usually paired to go on black market runs. Sometimes they killed the mech or femme they were dealing with, if the goods didn’t meet demands or the price was too high, but for the most part black market traders were allowed to live. If they killed them all, who would trade with them?

His most useful skills however were his ability to get by on little sleep and hold his high grade, followed closely by knowing how to listen well and coaxing people to talk. It was a time of war, no one had a happy life and many people did what they could to overcome it. 

There was interfacing, of course, but Jazz didn’t partake in that. It wasn’t that he was bad in the berth, but that there was a lot of risk involved. How was he to know who was good at hacking and who wasn’t? He would have to hide in his ghost drive, and he never liked doing that. It made him feel vulnerable. 

Plus, high grade was a lot more likely than an overload to cause loose lips. Sometimes Jazz would wander the halls at night and come across (after looking for them of course) a mech or femme nursing a cube. ‘Duke’ would walk up and get the other ‘Con to open up, learning a secret here and a secret there. He was actually trusted to not revel these secrets, as the ones he heard never made it into the rumor mill. Just to Autobot headquarters. It probably helped matters that being in charge of supplies, ‘Duke’ always made sure there was the fixing for high grade, more than their should be, and there was always a little stash he had hidden away. 

His most repeat customer was blocky, tan Praxian who went by the name of Interloper. The poor mech was really confused, when ‘Duke’ had asked where his doorwings were, for they were missing, Interloper had answered in a gravelly voice he had no idea. Interloper didn’t have an idea about a lot of things, he couldn’t tell Jazz about his past, and for the most part was fuzzy-processored. His optics were constantly twitching, trying to focus and failing, and he easily got lost and confused walking around Darkmount. Though, a lot of people did that. 

Despite his hazy personality, Interloper was a good worker. He was a low level grunt, whose only skill seemed to be having good aim and a high tolerance for pain. The poor guy was a favorite test subject for Shockwave, which went a long way to explain his confused behavior. 

When Jazz stepped out of his room one night, Interloper had been a few doors down staring up at the light fixture. “This is very familiar,” he said as Jazz approached. 

“It should be, your room is just past it.”

“Oh.”

“Heading to bed, Lope? It’s late.”

“I know, but I can’t sleep. I feel like if I do, I’ll forget something important.”

It was a common thought, and one ‘Duke’ had talked him through several times before. Jazz didn’t mind talking to Interloper as much as he did the others, there was always that undercurrent of thought that he was betraying their trust, but with Lope he felt as if he was actually helping the other mech through his mental issues. The Praxian certainly wasn’t the only deranged mech in the Deception ranks, but he was the easiest to handle. 

And the easiest to get to talk. Jazz learned a lot from him, about new weapons development and Shockwave’s plans. Interestingly, they didn’t always line up with Megatron’s, but were close most of the time. 

“Did you spend the day with Shockwave again?” ‘Duke’ placed a hand on Lope’s back and directed him towards the storeroom. His tiny office there would allow them to talk without disturbing their roommates, and his high grade was stashed there too. 

“No, Soundwave. He kept doing something funny to my processors. I don’t feel me. I think he played with my memories.”

Soundwave normally left Interloper alone, but sessions with him had longer lasting effects. The communications officer liked playing with the elements of a mech’s being, Shockwave just focused on physical damage. 

“How so?”

“I remember even less. I don’t know what I did this morning. And for some reason, I keep thinking that I spent time in handcuffs. But I don’t know why.”

Jazz could think of a couple reasons, mainly that Lope was so docile it’d be easy to lock him up for a bit of nighttime fun or if either of Megatron’s experimenters found they didn’t like him trying to get away. Suddenly, he wanted a drink too. 

He settled Interloper down in a chair, grabbed several cubes, and set himself down in the chair across from him. They drank one round in silence, before Jazz reopened the conversation. 

“Want to go over what you remember from today?”

Lope stared at the desk, through the clear bottom of the cube for a few astroseconds before answering. “Nothing before Soundwave commed me and I went to his labs.”

Really, Lope needed to learn how to say no. Or at least be less complacent. 

“Did he say what he wanted to work on?” ‘Duke’ slid a second cube across the table. For all of Lope’s mental problems, he remembered important information very well. It was an interesting talent that in a better, more functional mech would have been put to use as a special ops agent or a tactician. As it was, it just made him someone Jazz liked to talk to. 

“Spies.” Lope shifted the new cube on the tabletop a few times, but didn’t take a drink. “He wants people to think they’re someone else, no, actually be someone else, and get information about the Autobots.”

Sleeper agents. Jazz pulled back his hand from the high grade he was reaching for. High tolerance or not, it would be best if he didn’t have anymore. 

“I’m assuming you’d be one of them.”

“Maybe. Most likely. I got the feeling this isn’t the first time Soundwave has done something like this, but the first for this purpose.”

Jazz frowned. His experience as ‘Duke’ would help determine who was a sleeper agent and who wasn’t. And who knew, if he returned to the Autobots, maybe other sleepers would recognize him and think he was part of the same program. Either way, it was a good reason to return home. He didn’t think there as anything to add to is information about the ‘Cons’ supply line.

It took him awhile to find the password and frequency for the secure channel Prowl had set up for him, but when he did he sent the signal immediately and allowed himself a few moments to think of home. It had been awhile since he thought of Iacon, not wanting to risk a hack to his cache and someone finding them. 

He didn’t think of specifics of course, more of the feeling home gave him, and absorbing it. Eventually though, his attention returned to Interloper. The tan mech was tapping various parts of his head with a finger, but then gave up and tilted his head to stare at the second empty high grade cube. 

“Lope?” “Duke’ asked, concerned. Maybe Prowl could get them both out. 

“There’s a light, and this one isn’t familiar. It just came on and keeps blinking. I can’t tell if it’s real, or the drink. I can’t turn it off.” He tapped at an optic again.

Jazz’s world spun and dropped. “Just came on?”

Lope nodded.

“Try this passcode, it’s a factory default for Praxians.”

Lope didn’t even question him, just used the information Jazz had commed over. “Oh, it stopped.”

Oh Primus, Jazz was an awful agent. A new coat of paint, and the removal of a few characteristic features, and he was fooled. Had been for vorns. And Lope…Jazz knew Soundwave was evil and good at what he did, but he didn’t realize the mech was this good. 

Softly, praying and hoping, oh so much hoping he was wrong, Jazz addressed the mech in front of him by a different name. 

“Prowl?”

And Lope froze, staring at Jazz straight in the optics and something seemed to shift in the bright red light. Lope’s postured changed, from slumped to erect, and his mouth plates opened as if to say ‘yes?’ in that detached way Prowl was famous for. Jazz’s sparked stuttered.

But Prowl never spoke, and in a blink he was looking at Interloper again, the mech blinking at him through hazy optics. “Who’s that?”

And now that he was looking, Jazz was analyzing everything he could. The frame was the same, just the chevron and doorwings were missing, and the frame was so basic Praxian that wouldn’t be a clue to anyone about Lope’s true persona. And his voice was different, the amplitude and frequency of the soundwaves the inverse of Prowl’s (was that Shockwave’s work?), so that wasn’t something to relay on. And the personality was all wrong. There was no reason for Jazz, or anyone, to suspect Interloper had been, was, Prowl.

But to Jazz, it all felt like excuses. It didn’t alleviate the guilt that had been creeping up on him for the last breem. In fact, it increased it, because looking for excuses was a failed way to run away from the guilt. 

If he was staring at Prowl, how much information had the ‘Cons extracted? Prowl had access to a lot of information. But nothing big had happened, the war still was being fought and Iacon and other major Autobot bases still stood – there would have been a celebration at Darkmount if any of those had fallen. The thought of home Jazz had just had suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth, ruined by the negative possibilities of what could have happened. 

One thing hadn’t changed however, he still felt responsible for Prowl. Jazz needed to get the two of them out of ‘Con hands as soon as possible. 

##

Jazz kept Prowl, no Lope, near him as much as possible. It started a rumor that they were berth mates, but Jazz didn’t care. And he didn’t think Lope quite got the innuendos. He kept thinking about how badly Prowl had been messed up and did what he could to coax the tactician back. When alone, he always called Lope by his Autobot name. It rarely had an effect, and Lope seemed to have taken it as a nickname. 

He developed great appreciation for Prowl’s planning skills as he figured out a way to get Lope out of Darkmount. Jazz could get out no problem, he could disappear on a supply run. So could Interloper. But the issue was getting Lope on a supply run to begin with. Shockwave and Soundwave used him so often, for reasons he now knew, and it would be hard to get the Praxian permission to leave the base.

In the end, he didn’t. And probably blew his cover, not that he had any plans to pick it up again in the future. 

Duke was givin the time and date for a black market trade, and when the time came Jazz took off, an unconscious Lope in the back of the transport. It reminded him of their approach to Darkmount, except for the fact that he had been with Prowl. Who had been awake. And who had a plan all figured out. Just to be safe, he had knocked out Lope, to prevent the mech from wondering off or something similar. 

Jazz thought about driving straight for Iacon, they should be expecting him as he laid out his plans to return on the secure information line he had been using to spy. But that was only one way, and he had no idea if his CO had gotten it yet, or had even prepared for his return. So to give the Autobots extra time he went to the black marketing meeting, paid for the pulse laser, and then shot the femme who sold it to him and her two partners. They had seen Lope, when he groggily stuck his head out, and Jazz did not want to take any risks. He had failed Prowl the first time, he wasn’t going to this time.

Protection was a natural instinct for him, it was easy to kill the traders. 

Somewhere in the back of his processer, Jazz knew what really failed was the rescue attempt, the Autobot’s charge on Darkmount. But if he had been better, maybe he could have found out where Prowl was being held or give some other information to his side to help. He had sat in the cell, and didn’t once try to hack into the systems. 

He really did suck at this. No more solo missions for him. 

The closer he got to Iacon, the more tense he got. Had Night Owl gotten his message or should Jazz be concerned about being fired upon as he was in a Decepticon vehicle? Maybe it would be better to ditch the transport and approach on foot? But it would be a long, awkward walk with Lope still out of it (for the second time).

Maybe he should have gone to Tyger Pax again, it was closer and less likely to do damage to an incoming transport. Iacon though, would have the medics Lope, Prowl, would need. And taking the direct route wasn’t much longer. It just felt like it. 

A groon outside of Iacon, a quick hovercraft pulled up aside him. After exchanging codes, Jazz heard Night Owl’s own voice come through the speakers. “I want you to come in as unnoticed as possible, so we’re going to ditch your transport at a rock formation a bit back from where you came from and then you and Prowl can step into mine. 

“Sounds good, Boss.” Jazz said back, turning the wheel around. 

It was a relief to see his CO again after vorns of very few friendly faces, but Jazz restrained the grin he wanted to display. Reuniting with those he knew would be nice, but helping Lope/Prowl was the first priority. 

“You’re saying he doesn’t know who he is at all?” Night Owl asked, standing next to Lope’s prone form. 

“No. Sometimes he reacts to ‘Prowl’, but for the most part Interloper just thinks it’s a nickname I’ve given him.”

“Sounds like our medical staff will have their hands full.”

“But they can fix him, right? I mean, it can be reversed.”

Night Owl leveled a look at Jazz. “No promises, playing with processors and memories and personalities is always tricky as we’re not sure how they relate to the spark. And the data corrupts real easily. We’ll give him to the CMO and then we can only hope for the best.”

It wasn’t an answer Jazz liked. 

##

Jazz spent a joor or two in the med bay, getting back his old body color and fixing the alterations done to his frame. Lope spent days. The spy didn’t think that was a good thing, but there had been people who’d been in there longer and walked out fine. However, in those cases information about their condition circulated and it was mainly bed rest so they could recover. 

There was no information about Prowl. Jazz was tempted to think the tactician had died, except he had snuck in one night and saw the mech still had functioning pumps. 

So when Ratchet commed him with a request to meet him in the med bay, Jazz was already halfway there. He was the first one, but wasn’t the only one to arrive. He used his skills to blend in and go unnoticed; he was unused to being in the company of such high ranking officers and was worried they would blame him for Prowl’s condition. Jazz suspected he was only there because he kept harassing Ratchet with requests for updates. 

But as it turned out, it was all Prowl’s fault. 

“He deleted himself,” Ratchet said. “They took him straight to Soundwave. He wasn’t supposed to already be at Darkmount, Prowl’s time line accounted for travel time for Soundwave to get there and his ability to hold off for a few solar cycles. When he realized the accelerated timeline, he manually started erasing his harddrive.”

“How do you know this?” Optimus Prime asked. Jazz had never been this close to the Autobot leader before, and was impressed with his height. 

The CMO shrugged. “He left us a note in a low level processor not used for high function. It’s not easy to do yourself, but he managed.”

“Can we bring him back?”

It was Gasket who asked, Prowl’s CO, and Jazz found himself hoping for a yes.

“No.”

Ratchet shook his head. “Deleting that much information from your harddrive, Prowl got rid of everything from passcodes to personal memories, results in damage to the other sections of our biology. His personality warped, and he wasn’t neat or careful in his deletion. Prowl basic coding was damaged in the process too.”

“So he’s gone then.” Jazz spoke up, and took a small bit in pride at seeing Gasket jump in surprise and then turn around to look at him. 

“Not entirely. The mech personality known as Prowl is gone, but the body still functions and it’s run by someone else. We fixed all the coding issues, and did the mech a favor by erasing all the memories of his time under Shockwave and Soundwave’s care. We wanted to give him a fresh start.”

A door to a side room opened and through it stepped a dark gray Praxian mech. He even had a red chevron. But it wasn’t Prowl, that much Jazz could tell from how the mech held himself. Or Lope even, and Jazz wondered what happened to him. Gone maybe, with the repairs Ratchet and his team had done. 

Ratchet waved the mech and he came to stand next to the CMO. 

“I’d like you to meet Bluestreak.”


End file.
